


I've got a suitcase of memories that I [almost] left behind

by shadowed_sunsets



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Greg mostly just goes along with it, If you're lost you can look and you will find me Time after time, M/M, Magical Realism, Mary Poppins/Mary Poppins Returns AU, Mild angst with a happy/hopeful ending, Mycroft is magic, Second Chances, Unexpected but happy reunions, When your past shows up unexpectedly right when you need it, memories can be buried but never completely forgotten, when Time and Fate intervene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24479635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowed_sunsets/pseuds/shadowed_sunsets
Summary: In hopes of making DI, DS Greg Lestrade takes on a case that seems straightforward. But weeks on when no solution presents itself other than the obvious, Lestrade is given an ultimatum: make an appointment with a mysterious government consultant who can solve any problem– but at a high personal price - or give up the case.When Greg reluctantly gives in and goes to meet with this consultant, he's shocked to find the man who he now remembers had completely changed his life, and made the impossible possible, before many years ago in his youth- and is now about to do so all over again.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19
Collections: Mystrade Is Magic





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Mary Poppins au story that I started over a year ago but was initially inspired by many watches of Mary Poppins Returns. I’ve always loved Mary Poppins and my muse took the idea of a reunion as adults, with Mycroft and Greg, and ran with it.
> 
> There is quite a lot of backstory and headcannons I have for these two, which will one day be written. Possibly. I also expect this will become a series. And yes, Sherlock and John have their own tale to tell in the universe and that will also be told, someday.
> 
> Also the title is from the iconic song “Time After Time” because its fits this story so perfectly.
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this reunion as much as I have enjoyed writing it. This has been my pet project/happy story for a long time, and I’m excited to finally share it.
> 
> Many thanks to Jen who was not only a wonderful beta and reader but also a cheerleader and hand-holder. Love you dear!
> 
> Kudos and comments always welcome! <3

_“It’s funny how you wake up each day and never really know if it’ll be one that will change your life forever.”_

_“Once you've met someone you never really forget them. It just takes a while for your memories to return.”  
  
_

* * *

  
Detective Sergeant Greg Lestrade, soon to be Detective Inspector Lestrade if he ever managed to do what seemed to be turning out to be impossible, was currently trapped between a rock and a hard place. Not an actual rock and a hard place, since that’d be absurd and even more uncomfortable than his current unfortunate situation. 

But it was still a very uncomfortable figurative rock and a hard place, and somehow, Greg couldn’t see that changing any time soon.

He wanted to become a Detective Inspector, and knew he was ready for the promotion. He was one of the hardest working Sergeants in the department, and also, probably, the most determined. He just needed a way to prove he was ready for all the additional responsibility and that he had the necessary experience.

Which was why he had not exactly begged his DI to let him take the lead on their next case. And in the end Gregson hadn’t taken much convincing, since, unlike some others in his position, he actually cared about his people. 

Soon enough Gregson had handed him a new, seemingly simple case, and told him to run with it.

Gregson had also said he “expected great things” of Greg; which made it even harder for Greg to admit that he was possibly in far, far over his head. He also wasn’t sure if Gregson had been serious or joking when he’d said that; but it honestly didn’t matter because Greg did want to prove himself and he had _asked_ for this chance.

So he threw himself into the case, following every single lead that came across his desk whether it was significant or not, working from dawn to dusk, going over each piece of evidence and case notes and transcripts so many times he lost count and could barely see straight. He forgot what the sun looked or felt like, what it was like to have a regular schedule, or thinking about anything other than this case.

When he was about to bang his head against a handy wall after his latest promising lead had fallen through and still the case continued to baffle him, Gregson took Greg aside into his office. 

Greg was reading through the file for the hundredth something time, and his eyes were starting to cross rather than pick up on anything new. Trying to concentrate on Gregson sitting behind the desk looking stern but sympathetic, was difficult after spending so long staring at words on a page.

Being called into Gregson’s office, Greg almost expected him to kindly but firmly insist Greg hand the case back over to him and make Greg admit that, in the end, he wasn’t ready yet. He was chasing something that wasn’t there.

Which was why by the time he shut the door behind him and walked over to stand in front of the desk, Greg was nearly shaking with the need to defend himself. Maybe he hadn’t cracked this case _yet_ or figured out why something about it kept constantly bothering him, but he was not giving up on it until he did. He knew other officers would take one look at this case and just see what was there, write up what made the most sense, and say it was closed.

But Greg was determined to find the right, the just, solution, no matter how long it took him. It wasn’t just about proving himself anymore, or using this case as a stepping stone to becoming a DI. He wanted – needed – to know that the person who was actually responsible for the crime, for ruining several lives, was the one locked away and waiting to be sentenced.

Greg took a deep breath and opened his mouth to tell Gregson all this; to insist he be allowed to keep working the case and to try to explain how much he needed to follow this through to the end. 

So it came as a shock when Gregson spoke first, insisting, “Take a seat, Lestrade. You look about ready to collapse.” He waved a hand at the chair Greg was standing next to.

Greg snapped his mouth shut, caught off-guard. He blinked at Gregson, wondering if he’d finally exhausted his DI’s patience.

But he did as instructed and slowly sat down onto the chair; Greg clasped his hands together in his lap to stop them from shaking, and waited for Gregson to speak again.

“I know you’ve been running yourself ragged on this case, Lestrade. You’ve managed to stay with it longer than I expected, than anyone expected. Especially with a solid suspect already charged and behind bars.” 

He gave Greg a knowing look. “Of course you wouldn’t let that stop you. And he _is_ saying he’s not guilty.”

Gregson paused; so Greg replied into what felt like expectant silence, “Yes, sir.”

“But every good DI knows that a case like this can reach a point where no matter how hard you work away at it there’s nothing more you can do. It’s best to either let it be, or find another pair of eyes to help.” 

Gregson sat back in his chair, crossed his arms, and raised both eyebrows at him. “It’s your choice, Lestrade.”

_What?_ “Sir, with respect, I know I can and will solve this case.” Greg leaned forward, hands gripping at the armrests. “Just give me a little more time. That’s all I need.”

Gregson sighed, and Greg knew he was not going to like what he said next. “When was the last time you slept Lestrade? Or even went home for a whole night?” 

Before Greg could try to answer – because honestly, he really wasn’t sure – Gregson held up a hand. “No, Lestrade. I’m not about to let you burn yourself out on a case like this. Not when you have such a promising future ahead of you.”

“I’m not giving up on this case that easily, even for the sake of my future, sir.” Greg protested, adding the ‘sir’ at the last second. “Not before I’m absolutely certain the man sitting in a jail cell really is our culprit. I swear there’s something I’m missing.”

Gregson’s mouth twisted, and for a second Greg wondered if he would be reprimanded for that remark. “Right. What about a fresh set of eyes on the case, then? A new perspective.”

_Where was he leading with this?_ “At this point, sir, I’m fairly sure everyone in the division has touched this case. And we still haven’t uncovered anything new.”

“I see,” Gregson hummed; he rubbed a hand over his chin. 

Greg thought maybe Gregson would decide to just let him work away at the case until he either collapsed or did somehow miraculously manage to solve it. He hoped he’d eventually find the solution that he was satisfied with; that sounded much more preferable to collapsing somewhere.

“There is… one other option.” 

Greg turned his attention back to Gregson to find him looking like he was struggling over whether to share it with him. It worried Greg at the very least, but he was also at the point where he’d try nearly anything if it meant not giving up on this case.

“What’s that, sir?”

Gregson sat forward in his chair and beckoned for Greg to lean in closer. It was almost impossible for anyone to eavesdrop with the door closed, but Greg leaned in anyways. There was a strange electric hope growing in his chest, like he was balancing on the edge of something important and all he had to do was take that first step.

“There’s an outside consultant; rumor is he has some high-level position in the government, very hush-hush. But he’s a sort of professional problem-solver. Politicians, government officials, police, you name it, seek him out when they have nowhere else to turn. Far as I know there’s never been anything he can’t come up with an answer for.”

“Seems a bit too good to be true, sir.” Greg pointed out, trying not to be too skeptical of this supposedly perfect solution he was only now being told about. “Why haven’t I heard of this consultant before?”

If Greg didn’t know better he’d say Gregson shifted uneasily in his chair at the question. “He’s not exactly the easiest man to get an appointment with, or to get on with. But he’s always right.” Gregson tapped his finger on the desk. “So if you need a new perspective on this case of yours, I’d suggest you try to get a consultation with him.”

Greg wasn’t sure he liked the sound of this consultant. “How would you suggest I do that, sir? If he’s difficult to get time with.” Even if this consultant was his last chance for finding the solution that had been eluding him, Greg wasn’t eager to have to track him down at a secret office or in a maze of marble halls.

Gregson reached over to open one of his desk drawers and rummaged around inside. He handed an expensive looking business card on thick black cardstock with two lines of elegant white text across to Greg. “Start with this number. Call, explain your problem to whoever answers, and if it catches his interest you’ll get an appointment. But it’s up to him whether he’ll help you or not.”

Greg didn’t like the sound of that. But he took the card and stared down at the two lines of text with the name ‘M. Holmes’ and a phone number.

The surname rang a very distant bell in his memory, but trying to figure out why was like trying to grasp smoke. Greg shook his head – it probably wasn’t important anyway – and slipped the business card into the pocket of his jacket. 

He didn’t think he’d actually have to use it; he hoped this case would be over well before he needed to ask for help from an ‘outside consultant.’ Especially with what all was at stake. But it wasn’t worth arguing with Gregson; even if Greg had the feeling this was meant to give him a final push on this case.

So Greg merely said, “Thank you, sir,” and stood up from his chair.

He waited to be dismissed, eager to return to his desk and start going over the case files yet again. But instead, Gregson just gave him a worried look and seemed again to be trying to decide whether to say something.

Finally Gregson sat back in his chair, wringing his hands in a nervous way Greg had never seen before. “You should know something, Lestrade. Before you go calling that number.”

Greg stuffed his hands into his pockets, forcing himself to stay still. “What’s that, sir?”

“I was telling the truth when I said this consultant’s never been wrong. He always comes up with an answer, and it's always right. But… there’s a cost. To consulting him. There’s always a price.”

Greg wondered if he should ask; obviously whatever it had cost Gregson in the past it wasn’t something he was comfortable with. But then Greg realized he’d rather not know. It just made him even more determined to keep his nose to the grindstone and solve this case on his own. He didn’t want to risk or give up anything right now. 

So Greg waited until Gregson finally sent him away, seemingly glad to end their conversation, and went back to his collection of notes, evidence, and more that had taken over his desk as he dug further into the case.

* * *

  
A few days later, reluctant to admit defeat but also realizing he may actually need help if he wanted to get past the impossible wall he’d hit with this case –or ever sleep or see his flat again– Greg finally called the number on the mysterious business card.

There might be a price for asking advice from this consultant; but Greg honestly wasn’t sure he had anything to give him in return. At the moment, his entire life centered around solving this case and the possibility of a promotion.

A pleasing but direct voiced young woman answered his call; and after he explained his problem with only a little unnecessary rambling, he was granted an audience with this mysterious ‘M. Holmes.’

Instead of an address for a part of the city where he would have to wear his best suit if he didn’t want to be thrown out on sight, Greg was given an address for what sounded like a gentleman’s club he had never heard of. Even if those types of clubs – or any clubs – hadn’t been his scene for years.

To his absolute shock he was given a time later that day for his appointment; Gregson had made it sound like he’d have to wait at least weeks to meet this ‘M. Holmes.’ But Greg was not about to pass up this opportunity he was being given. 

So he gathered all of the information, notes, and photographs he had on this case into a folder, attempted to smooth out the wrinkles in his suit since he hadn’t had a chance to go back to his flat in several days– though he had been changing his shirts– and went down onto the street to flag down a cab.

Eventually, one came.

There was one thing the woman had said that was odd enough to stick out in his mind. Even after he was off the phone and inside the cab on his way to his appointment, he couldn’t stop trying to puzzle it out.

_“Oh, and Sergeant… if your cab driver isn’t able to find the address, I’d recommend exiting on the corner and finding your way by foot. You might find it easier to locate the entrance that way.”_

* * *

When Greg arrived at the “Diogenes Club” after leaving his annoyed cabbie behind and walking from further down the street just like the woman had predicted, he found himself standing in front of a building like all the others on the street. This one with a discreet entrance of an unassuming wooden door with a small plaque in the white brick beside it.

But there was a problem. There was no bell, no intercom, and no knocker. He supposed the club members had their own way of entering, since he doubted visitors were often allowed.

So, left with no other option, Greg knocked sharply on the door with his knuckles.

More than a minute went by without anyone answering. Greg wondered if they really were expecting him or if this was part of some elaborate set up.

He was just about to knock again when from inside he heard the sound of bolts being drawn back. The door swung inward silently, but Greg couldn’t see inside past the very tall and very fancily dressed man filling the door frame in front of him.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Greg offered a smile, but the man did not seem to be impressed. “Sergeant Lestrade,” he introduced himself, digging into his pocket for his badge. “I’m here to see Mr. Holmes?”

The man continued to look less than impressed with Greg. He gave Greg’s badge a much closer look than most people did, nearly a whole minute's worth, before he finally stepped to the side and beckoned Greg inside.

“Welcome, Sergeant.” 

Greg stepped up and over the threshold to find himself in a narrow hallway panelled in dark wood with carpet running the length of the floor and antique wall lamps turned low. At a glance, he didn’t see any other doors along the hallway, and the place was almost eerily quiet. He couldn’t hear any noise from further inside. 

Once Greg was standing in the hallway the man closed the door behind them, sealing them off from the street outside. It almost felt like they were in a completely different realm now, and Greg wondered again if he had been set up to be scared out of his wits.

He was definitely out of place here. Inside his worn down and scuffed shoes, Greg’s toes curled. The suit he was currently wearing for the second day, though he’d changed his shirt at least, suddenly felt no better than loungewear. He struggled to remember if he’d even combed his hair that day. 

Greg had to bite his tongue to stop himself from making a comment just to fill the heavy silence.

He really hoped he wouldn’t be told to take off his shoes; he wasn’t sure he could do so without falling or making a fool of himself. At least he wasn’t wearing one of his pairs of socks with a hole in the toes or seams.

The man turned around again to pin him in place with a sharp, scrutinizing stare.

“As the guest of a club member you are expected to abide by the rules of the Diogenes while you are inside these walls. Therefore, speaking is only allowed in the Visitors Rooms or the members private offices. Otherwise there must be absolute silence.”

He treated Greg to a severe look, as if he personally doubted Greg’s ability to follow such simple directions. “Please keep this in mind as I show you to Mr. Holmes’ office.”

Greg opened his mouth to confirm he understood and would follow these rules, then caught himself. He snapped his mouth shut and nodded instead.

“Very good, sir. This way then.”

Greg obediently followed the intimidating man down the dimly lit hallway, trying to shake off the feeling of the paneled walls closing in on him. He kept his head high, eyes forward, and tried to appear composed when he actually felt like an uncivilized imposter in his wrinkled suit and scuffed up shoes.

They turned down more hallways that all seemed completely identical, down a set of carpeted stairs, then yet another hallway before finally stopping in front of an antique wooden door. 

Turning sideways to face Greg, the man raised a hand and rapped sharply on the door.

There wasn’t an answer from inside but the man reached out towards the door and turned the knob to pull it open a little, just far enough for the light inside to spill out into the hallway.

Still without a word, the man nodded to Greg and then turned and walked back down the hallway, leaving Greg standing awkwardly outside a slightly open door without any idea what awaited him inside.

Well he was here for a reason, and, supposedly, he was expected.

Greg took a deep breath, and reached out to pull the door open more so he could step inside.

He found himself standing in a smaller room that seemed more of a reception room than the large office he’d expected. There was more of the dark wood paneling from the hallway, and old-fashioned textured wallpaper on the rest of the walls.

On the other side of the small office was an antique carved wooden desk with matching cabinets built into the wall behind. A beautiful young woman in a very nice, expensive dress sat at the desk typing on a laptop in front of her by the light of an antique lamp in the corner.

Greg walked up to the desk, where the woman apparently guarded the grand wooden double doors he’d just noticed that must lead inside to the main office. 

She continued typing away at her laptop, eyes glued to the screen, as he cleared his throat. “Er, hello. I’m here to see Mr. Holmes.”

She finished typing and hit the return key before finally looking up at him. 

“Good afternoon,” she greeted with a polite smile. “Your name, please.” She opened the appointment book on the desk in front of her and picked up a pen.

“DS Lestrade. Greg Lestrade.” He reached into his pocket and dug around for his warrant card. God, he was probably making an awful first impression. Especially in front of a woman like this, who must work for the mysterious Holmes. “I can show you my identification if you need…”

“‘Gregory Lestrade’?” The woman repeated, and Greg jerked his head up at the note in her voice. There was a gleam in her eyes now, and he wasn’t sure he liked the way she was looking at him.

“Right, DS Greg Lestrade.” Greg confirmed, wondering if there’d been a mistake. “I called earlier, made an appointment.”

“Yes, you did,” the woman confirmed with just a touch more warmth in her voice, and Greg’s shoulders dropped in relief. She turned back to her laptop and quickly typed something. 

A moment later her laptop ‘ding’ed softly with a notification. Whatever it was made her smirk and she turned her attention to him again with a friendlier smile. “He’s currently finishing a call, but you can go in. He’ll be right with you.”

“Great, um, thanks.” Greg told her not at all awkwardly, and turned away towards the double doors that led to Mr. Holmes’ office. Was everything in this place meant to be so intimidating? Or was it just all getting to him?

He glanced back at the woman, who had returned her attention to her laptop. “So I just, uhm,” Greg waved his hand at the doors.

“Go on in.”

Greg bobbed his head, swallowing nervously. He walked the few steps over to the double doors and reached out to open one of them. Then quickly went inside before he could embarrass himself anymore.

As soon as he passed over the threshold into the large, elegant office it felt like he’d walked through a dense invisible wall. There was an odd hushed silence to the room, as if nothing dared make a noise. The sensation seeped into his skin, a staggering weight settling over his shoulders; he couldn’t even make himself turn to close the door, he just gently pushed it closed with the flat of his hand mentally wincing at every imagined noise it made.

Once the door finally closed with a near silent click, Greg leaned back against it, letting it support his weight as he tried to calm his racing heart. He took the chance to take a look around the office, except that the antique wall lamps and the few lamps set on surfaces around the edges of the room were turned down so low he could barely see.

In fact the only part of the room that was well-illuminated was the carved antique wooden desk with a single antique cushioned wooden chair set in front of it all the way on the other side of the room.

Other than that he could just barely make out what looked like built in cabinets and bookshelves along the walls to either side of him.

Behind the nearly hidden door off to the left which must lead to another room of Mr. Holmes’ office, Greg could just barely hear a voice speaking quietly. He couldn’t make out any words, but he didn’t want to stay where he was and seem like he was eavesdropping on a private conversation.

So Greg walked all the way across the carpeted room to sit carefully down on the edge of the chair in front of the desk. The chair looked as antique as the rest of the furniture in the office and he didn’t want to be the one to destroy it.

He clasped his hands together on his lap and crossed his legs; then he unclasped his hands and crossed his arms instead, tucking his hands in against his sides; then finally he uncrossed his legs again and rested his hands on his knees. 

Greg felt so anxious. He had been told Mr. Holmes was the only person left who could help him with what, to everyone else, was an obviously already closed case. And while having to ask for help from an outside consultant wasn’t his first, or second, choice, he didn’t have any other options left. This really was his last chance to try and put things right before this case was forcibly taken away from him and he had to give up all control over the outcome.

In the side room, the voice suddenly stopped; Greg made himself sit up even straighter, trying to look like he belonged here, waiting uncomfortably in an intimidating office that practically radiated power. Greg quickly ran his fingers through his hair, but then stopped when he realized he was probably making it worse.

He tried to dry his suddenly sweaty hands on his trousers then caught himself, and clasped them back together again instead.

The door to his left opened with only a whisper across the carpet. A few seconds later, Greg heard quiet footsteps walking towards him and silently argued with himself over whether or not he should turn and look.

“I apologize for making you wait, I was just finishing a call which took longer than expected.”

A soft pleasant but still upper class and arrogant voice apologized from somewhere behind him. Greg had expected the accent and the haughtiness; but even so the voice was strangely, hauntingly familiar. He just didn’t know why. 

Just the sound of it made his heart speed up in his chest, eager anticipation completely sweeping aside his earlier nerves. The ground beneath his chair suddenly didn’t feel nearly as stable anymore; and his mind was buzzing with that sensation of being right on the cusp of something life changing.

“Thank you for your patience, I promise you will not regret your decision to seek my counsel.”

For the first time in many years, since he’d reached adulthood and before he’d joined the Met, he remembered the motorbike that’d been his pride and joy in his teens that he’d done all the work to fix it up himself. Or how he’d sneak out his bedroom window in the middle of the night or during the day to lay on the roof, staring into the endless blue or midnight sky full of endless possibilities.

Greg knew this voice, he was sure of it; it was just like a song on the radio you’ve heard a million times before but can never remember all the words later on.

_“Everything will be fine, Greg. I promise.”_ The memory of a trusted voice reassuring him, nearly a whisper in the safety of the darkness of night. _“You have your entire future to look forward to.”_

Greg caught movement out of the corner of his eye; and while his mind spun trying to sift through years worth of newly recalled memories to identify the voice, Greg found his head turning on its own to look.

A few seconds later, Greg really hoped he wasn’t staring. He didn’t mean to. It had just been a while since his last real relationship, and he’d always had a weakness for well-dressed people. So maybe it was understandable that he was temporarily struck speechless at the sight of a tall man close to his age dressed in a very-well tailored dark suit with the hint of a waistcoat – all of which probably cost more than his yearly salary.

For just a second he saw a younger version of the same man instead, wearing an expensive dark colored jumper over a light dress shirt and trousers... with a slightly too long black umbrella with a curved wooden handle swinging by his side.

_Where’d that come from?_

Greg roughly cleared his throat, and forced himself to look away. The lamps on the wall, and the others strategically placed around the room for optimum intimidation– or so he suspected– were still dimmed, so he couldn’t see the man clearly. He could just barely make out a sharply angled nose and a slender profile.

As the man passed by one of the lamps it cast just enough light for Greg to glimpse skin even paler than his own from rarely seeing the sun and carefully styled auburn hair before the man walked back out of the circle of light. 

Greg hadn’t managed to catch the man’s eyes, but somehow Greg was absolutely certain that they were a mesmerizing pale grey. Now the man was back in shadow again and Greg had to stop himself from shifting in his chair, feeling strangely impatient. 

In the last minute or so he’d gone from sitting alone in this intimidating office anxiously waiting for the mysterious ‘M. Holmes’ to instead impatiently waiting for his first real full look at the man.

After what felt like ages, the man finally reached the desk near where Greg was waiting; and then as he turned and moved behind the desk Greg was finally able to clearly see him for the first time. 

A few seconds later, Greg’s brain caught up to his eyes; and his mouth must have fallen wide open because _it just couldn’t be_. 

It, oddly, made sense now why all these long forgotten memories from that last dream-like summer of his teens were suddenly returning to him. And why many things about this man seemed so strangely familiar, even though it was unlikely they’d met before. 

It was all so impossible. Except, as he remembered now, even the impossible is possible.

Still in shock and lost for words, Greg watched as he settled into the chair behind the desk still without looking at Greg yet. “Now Detective Sergeant, what problem are you requesting my help with today?”

Greg found himself tongue-tied as he struggled to come to terms with the realisation that these memories from the summer before his last year of school were actually real and not just his once overactive imagination like he’d always believed. Everything had been different after that summer, once he’d started making deliberate changes and plans for his future. He just hadn’t ever really thought closer about why.

But… it all had really happened. All because of the man somehow sitting across the desk from him after all these years; when in Greg’s still reemerging memories he seemed so impossible.

That summer was decades – almost half a lifetime – ago; more than enough time for both of them to become different people. But deep down Greg knew without any doubt it couldn’t be anyone else. 

“Mike?”

As fanciful as it sounded, time seemed to stop as the other man obviously startled in his chair then his gaze jumped upward and their eyes finally met.

Even though, with time, the features had aged and there were more lines etched around his mouth and eyes, Greg would never forget those storm cloud grey eyes now staring in shock back at him. 

Greg offered a weaker smile than he’d like as those familiar eyes widened in recognition then swept over him in an intense scrutiny he’d never experienced from anyone else. 

The nerves and intimidation that had weighed down on him as long as he’d been in this office vanished away. Knowing that it was Mike he was here to meet, and not just another stuck-up know it all government consultant, completely changed his expectations.

Meeting Mike again, here, seemed like an unbelievable dream. It made him nervous in a different way. It had been so many years...

Greg sat as still as he could and tried not to fidget; watching as surprised recognition turned to genuine warmth as the reserved and arrogant demeanor fell away. It was replaced with a warm fond expression that made Greg’s body hum in pleasure and a real smile come much more easily.

“Gregory…” 

It was strange hearing Mike’s voice again now he actually recognized it, especially since Greg hadn’t expected to ever hear it again. The sound of it still gave him the warm feeling Greg recalled from his few good memories from his childhood.

“Hi,” Greg said quietly, because he could at least greet Mike properly. 

But he didn’t know what else to say and was afraid to speak any louder. He didn’t want to disrupt this moment.

Mike’s mouth twitched upward in what could either be a smile, or just amusement at Greg. 

“Hello,” Mike replied, matching Greg’s volume. 

A hint of color touched Mike’s cheeks, those quicksilver eyes flickering away from Greg and down to the notebook open in front of him. “I apologize for my obvious shock; only, when Anthea informed me a DS Lestrade had requested a last-minute appointment, I did not at all expect you were to whom she was referring.”

Mike’s gaze moving off of him felt like an intense spotlight being abruptly shut off; he took a moment to breathe, but found himself missing it. “Well, when I showed up for an appointment with the mysterious ‘M. Holmes’ – who I was told is a genius and the only one who can figure out my apparently unsolvable case – I didn’t know I’d find you.”

Pale eyes almost reluctantly focused on him again, and when they did there was a profound sadness in them that shocked Greg. “You didn’t remember anything until just now, when you recognized me. Before then all your memories of that summer, of the time we spent together, were only like a fondly remembered dream.”

Greg winced; that was all true, but he hadn’t wanted to admit it. Not out loud anyway. He rubbed his hand at the back of his neck, making himself not look away from that unwavering gaze. “Fine, no, I didn’t remember. Not ‘til I heard your voice and it all started coming back to me.”

“But,” Greg dropped his hand back into his lap and shifted forward in his chair, struggling to make enough sense of his turbulent emotions to at least try to put them into actual hopefully meaningful words. “I do remember now. ‘Specially how much that week with you meant to me, back then.”

Mike’s mouth twisted sharply downward, something pained flickering across his face; it was gone too quickly for Greg to identify, but his chest ached in response. 

“As always happens,” Mike said quietly, turning the fountain pen over and over in his fingers. “We’re made to leave you behind; and as the years pass you grow up, forgetting all the imagination of your childhood in favor of true logic and the harsh reality of being an adult. Everything from before becomes nostalgic dream-like childhood memories.”

Greg hated hearing Mike sound so sorrowful, especially knowing it was because of him. He also hated just as much that he’d ever forgotten this incredible man. Even if, according to Mike, he was always going to. He hadn’t had any chance at stopping it.

But—

“Mike, does that mean… _You_ never forgot?”

That weighted question finally made Mike meet Greg’s eyes again, even though he was obviously hesitant to. 

“Of course not, Gregory,” Mike admitted, his tone painfully matter of fact. As if how he actually felt wasn’t reflected there in his eyes for Greg to see. “As I believe I once told you, I never forget anything.”

Mike almost immediately appeared to regret revealing that. He cleared his throat, the harshness of it fracturing whatever had been slowly rebuilding between the two of them.

Mike turned his head away, formerly warm eyes shuttering and his open expression turning impassive as he shifted slightly in his chair, drawing his hands back into his lap while his body language completely closed off to Greg. 

Just like that he transformed from the familiar Mike of Greg’s memories to the untouchable powerful government official Greg had expected to meet. 

It was like looking at an old photograph of Mike, but all the memories and the emotions behind the moment the picture was taken weren’t there.

_I completely forgot you for so many years, even though that week meant everything to me. I just ignorantly continued on with my life, without having any idea. Just the feeling that I was missing something. Something important._

Greg swallowed thickly. _But you’ve always remembered. Are they just memories to you or are they as important to you as they were to me?_

“And as a matter of fact, I prefer Mycroft these days. All though for my business cards I do use only my first initial. It creates more of an air of mystery, as you said.”

“‘Mycroft’?” Greg repeated, the name strange on his tongue. “Where’d you come up with that?”

Mike – Mycroft – was staring a little too intently at the wall off to Greg’s left. “It’s an old family name. And, truthfully, is my given name. ‘Mike’ was a childhood nickname I held onto for much longer than I should have. Until I realized those looking to seek my counsel were more likely to do so, and to then follow my advice, if I used my given name, rather than a pedestrian nickname such as ‘Mike.’”

“Or Greg,” Greg pointed out, making an attempt at a self-deprecating laugh. But he still felt so caught off guard that it fell flat. “Though these days I’m usually ‘Sergeant,’ ‘Lestrade,’ or ‘hey you.’”

Mike’s eyes – Mycroft, he should get used to calling him Mycroft – found his again for a brief moment, narrowing as they did. “Being a police officer is a very respectable occupation, Gregory. I am proud you have found an occupation worthy of your skills. And it is certainly preferable to a position within the government.”

Greg frowned at him. “Don’t remember everything yet, but I don’t think you ever mentioned being in the government as part of your plans for your future.”

Mycroft’s lips pressed together in a firm line, apparently not pleased by the memory. “It wasn’t at the time, no. My future was planned to be quite different.”

The sense of Mike not telling complete truths echoed within his memories. “Then you _are_ part of the government? Some sort of exclusive, genius consultant?”

Mycroft’s answering smile was small, but a touch devious. “And where did you hear so?”

Greg considered the question. He’d guessed from the fancy business card with very limited information that ‘M Holmes’ was some sort of mysterious expensive consultant. And what Gregson told him had just confirmed his impression. “Well, Gregson said—”

“Ah, yes. DI Gregson.” Mycroft commented, interrupting him. “Relatively intelligent man, but not the strongest sense of imagination.” The fondness crept back in just at the corners of his eyes as he added, a hint more warmly, “Unlike you.”

That caught Greg off-guard, and he swallowed back the sharp reply he’d been about to make. Instead he said, a little thickly, “Well, he was smart enough to suggest I come see you.”

“Yes, I suppose he was,” Mycroft tilted his head slightly to the side, considering. Greg caught Mike’s glance at him, and tried to pretend like he wasn’t closely watching him in return.

After what felt like ages Mike finally turned back to face him again, returning his full attention to Greg. He sat forward in his chair, the warmth lingering in his eyes, but it still felt like there was an unbridgeable distance between them. “I am truly grateful to him for recommending you come visit me. I very much doubt our paths would have ever crossed again otherwise.”

Greg felt like he’d been drenched in cold water at that reality check. So he could have gone the rest of his life without ever remembering this man or finding out exactly what it was about that summer he couldn’t remember. He’d have gone on completely ignorant for the rest of his life. 

He’d always had a nagging feeling something momentous had happened that summer, enough to change his entire outlook for his future. But he’d never been able to work out exactly what; and mostly that’d been fine because he’d rather focus on the future than the past.

Now though, he was finally starting to regain those memories. And right now Greg remembered enough that he was absolutely certain he never wanted to forget them, or Mike, ever again. “Never? Not even in the street or in the shops somewhere?”

“As I said, I highly doubt it.” 

That confession hurt, as did Mike obviously trying to be kind about it. “You have a life of your own, Gregory. You do not need me as you did when you were younger. And I spend little time outside the walls of this building; I rarely interact with the public.”

_Is that because you don’t have time to, or you don’t want to?_ Greg wondered, searching Mike’s face. But it was frustratingly hard to read again; just when Greg wanted to know exactly what he was thinking.

From what he did remember Mike had never been the more outgoing of the pair of them when it came to other people. But he had, for the most part, willingly participated in conversations and got along with other people. And it had usually not ended disastrously.

Now though from what Mike was, and wasn’t, saying it sounded like he wasn’t willingly or even making an effort to engage with anyone other than those who came to him as clients, and his assistant.

His heart ached for Mike thinking of him sealed away within this office, cut off from everyone else and the outside world. Even if it was by choice.

It was probably against every rule of etiquette in this place and normally he wasn’t so overemotional, but this was _Mike;_ and between his still resurfacing memories and the wrenching thought of never even having this chance reunion and the isolation Mike was putting himself through, he became overwhelmed – and so Greg tightly gripped the arms of his chair to pull it right up to the edge of the desk. 

His powerful reaction obviously surprised Mike, but Greg wanted (needed) him to understand why he was so affected; especially if this was his only chance to explain. So Greg leaned forward in his chair and looked directly at Mike to make sure he would listen.

“I do still need you, so don’t try to convince me or yourself any different. And since fate, or whatever you want to call it, did bring us back together, let’s not waste any time thinking about what-if’s. Not when we have this second chance. I’ll willingly take all the time we can have together.” 

Greg took a deep breath, realizing a little too late that he was shaking.

He leaned away from Mike and drew his hands back into his lap, clasping them tightly together. “Sorry, I just— now we’ve found each other again, I don’t want to risk losing… any of this; again.” 

Mike was silent, so once he braced himself to see Mike’s reaction Greg glanced up at him; he found Mike seemed to have recovered from his initial shock and was now carefully watching him, brow furrowed and a worried look in his eyes. 

So Greg continued on. “All these memories I have again now, they’re all of the two of us- together. Back then I had no idea who I was, really, or what my future might be like. But somehow you still made it all okay.”

“Gregory—”

Greg raised his voice a little, wanting to say all this while he could, while he still had the courage. “You made me so sure that everything would turn out all right, that I could grow up and be myself and still support my family. Be confident that growing up wouldn’t mean compromising or becoming someone I wasn’t.”

A shaky laugh escaped his mouth, and Greg went back to staring down at his hands. He wasn’t brave enough to meet Mike’s eyes as he bared his soul. 

Greg pressed his palms together, giving him something to focus on other than the emotionally loaded words he was sharing out loud for the first time. “Was a hell of a realization for me, but I’m sure you know that. And I wanted to share that with you, to thank you, but then suddenly you were gone. And it was like you’d vanished into thin air. There was no trace of you left behind anywhere.”

He barely heard Mike’s quiet, pained, “ _Gregory_.”

The words felt like they were tearing themselves from his throat, pouring wildly out of him to just hang there in the open space between him and Mike; left out in the open where he had no control over them and couldn’t take them back.

“And, and the absolute worst bit of it was that after awhile I wasn’t so sure anymore that I hadn’t just made you up. Everyone was telling me they didn’t remember you, that you didn’t exist, and I… I started believing them. Thought you were too good to be true, that I’d just imagined you because I had no one else to talk to or share things with. So, I told myself none of it really happened and I moved on, and took control of my own life.

But now I do remember again, I think… somewhere deep down I never really did forget you completely. Whenever I’ve had to make a hard decision or I’ve been stuck, there’s always been a voice offering advice. Thought it was just my conscience but now, I’m pretty sure it sounded like you.”

The emotional rush of words finally came to a stop, and the room fell into silence around them. Greg sighed shakily, feeling exhausted now all these emotions that’d been buried for so long and forgotten were out there in the open.

“Just… just so you know.”

The temptation to look at Mike was almost unbearable; Greg desperately wanted to know how he had taken Greg’s outburst and everything he had just confessed; it must have surprised him just as much as it had Greg.

But Greg couldn’t make himself actually raise his head to look at Mike because… what if they’d both changed too much? They weren’t the same people as all those years ago; too much time had passed since then. What if, even now they’d somehow found each other again, they didn’t fit together anymore?

What if everything just now was too much for Mike, and when he did speak next it would be to throw Greg out of his office? 

God, what if those were the last words he ever heard from Mike? And then afterwards he wound up forgetting everything all over again?

“Greg…” 

_Take it all back. Quick. You’re wearing too much of your heart on your sleeve, Greg, like always._

Greg made himself pretend to relax back into his chair, leaning against the backrest and forcing his hands apart. “Sorry,” he tried apologizing; but his voice sounded rough even to his own ears.

Greg ran his hand across his face, struggling to control his expression and manage his still spiraling emotions. 

Out of Mike’s sight his other hand curled into a fist beside his leg. “God, sorry. Just, ignore all that. Everything I said. Didn’t mean to drop that all on you. Just, you know—” Greg tiredly raised his hand to wave it around in the air, hoping Mike would catch on. “Too many sleepless nights and long days at work, trying to solve this blasted case. Been drinking too much coffee and not eating enough. My mouth just ran away from me a bit.” 

It almost pained him to try to smile, having no idea what Mike was thinking or how he was taking all this. But Greg absolutely could not look at him now, not after he’d so completely embarrassed himself.

He nearly jumped out of his chair at the gentle pressure of a hand on his knee, the sensation sending his already racing heart overboard. 

Greg took his hand away from his face to find Mike perched right in front of him on the edge of the desk. One of his hands was on Greg’s knee, the other was wrapped around something hidden in his palm; his suit jacket had disappeared off somewhere, (revealing a very nice waistcoat part of his brain noticed), and Mycroft didn’t even seem to mind that he was probably creasing his ridiculously expensive trousers.

Greg didn't remember the Mike from his memories being very physically demonstrative; it’d only happened only a few rare times, and only when they’d been alone together. And even then, Mike hadn’t seemed very comfortable.

Yet, here they were all these years later, and Greg hadn’t even needed to _ask._

Greg swallowed, but when he opened his mouth, no words would come out. The light but grounding touch on his knee helped to reassure him he hadn’t just made a horrible fool of himself in front of his once best friend like he was afraid of. And it was actually comfortable; he could feel himself calming down again, relaxing. All of his anxiety and the writhing tangle of emotions inside his chest were vanishing away.

But, he still didn’t trust himself to speak yet; in case he started rambling again.

Greg exhaled a long breath and finally gathered enough courage to glance up at Mike, having no idea what he would find.

But there was no judgement or revulsion in Mike’s eyes; just the same understanding and reassurance he remembered. It was the same look that had helped him be certain all those years ago that, as impossible as it seemed just then, everything would be okay.

Long forgotten hopeful warmth built up within his chest; chasing away the rest of the panic and fear. “Mike—”

Mycroft’s mouth twitched upward, but he didn’t scold Greg for using his old nickname. Instead he leaned in closer, his hand lightly squeezing Greg’s knee. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard, Gregory. Even you need to rest sometimes.”

Greg shook his head, even as he silently admitted that maybe he had become a little obsessed with this case. “I can’t, not yet. I need to solve this case. I know I can figure it out.”

Chilled but gentle fingers coaxed his own to slowly uncurl from the fist they’d made. Greg didn’t fight them, just looked down as Mycroft pressed something small and round into his now open palm. 

Then Mycroft pulled away from him to sit completely upright, even removing his hand from Greg’s knee; leaving him feeling oddly cold.

Greg stared down at the all-too familiar gold pocket watch sitting innocently there in his palm. He ran his thumb lightly over the smooth golden surface of its back, the chain pooled underneath shifting slightly with the movement. 

“You kept it.” The shocking realisation escaped his lips in a hushed whisper. He carefully turned the watch over to see the delicately engraved lid, one of the reasons why he’d specifically chosen this one for Mike. 

“Of course I did, it was a gift,” Mycroft confirmed quietly, as if there was no question of his having done anything else.

The watch looked exactly the same as Greg remembered; except no, that wasn’t right – something was missing—

With a light press of his fingernail, the lid opened to reveal the familiar watch face. 

The hour and minute hands pointed to a time that was distressingly, hauntingly, familiar; Greg couldn’t remember exactly why, but just seeing the watch hands set at that specific time made the prickling despair start crawling under his skin again. The seconds hand meanwhile was completely still. 

It was almost like the watch had frozen in time, at a very specific moment. 

“Is it broken?” Greg worried, heartsick at the thought that his gift – one he had put so much thought, and himself, into – had abandoned Mike as well. He cradled the watch carefully in both of his hands. 

“It was, for a very long time,” Mycroft said slowly. Greg looked up quickly at the strange note in his voice, and discovered Mycroft staring at the watch almost thoughtfully. “But just recently, _very_ recently in fact, it started working again.”

Greg frowned at him, confused and a little worried. “But the hands have all stopped; it’s not even ticking.”

Mycroft looked up to meet his eyes, giving him an almost comically puzzled look. “Are you sure?”

“Am I sure—Look at it, Mike!” Greg held the broken but still very precious watch out so Mike could see it clearly. “It’s not—”

Neatly between one second and the next, and without any fuss, the quiet ticking of the watch filled the air between them.

Greg’s eyes widened in shock, but he absolutely did not drop the watch. Instead he closed his hands around it and drew it protectively back to his chest. “I—”

Still close by on the edge of the desk, Mycroft leaned in slightly – looking pleased with himself. “Just as I said.”

“You—” Greg lowered his hands to his lap and slowly lifted his top hand away from the watch. He stared as it continued to tick away in his palm, the seconds hand making its way innocently around the face of the watch. 

Greg chuckled, because what else could he do. That sense of slightly altered reality, just a side-step away from normal, was tugging at him. “You always did have a way with time.”

_Except when you left; it wasn’t time then yet. I still needed you, whatever you thought. Or your reasons._

_And if I let myself admit it, I still need you now. Even all these years later._

The sound of Mycroft calling his name – not for the first time from the hint of fond exasperation in his voice – pulled Greg out of his thoughts. Probably a good thing given the direction they’d been heading. 

Greg realized that while he’d been years away in the past he’d tightened his grip on the watch again; and was staring down at it like it held all the secrets of the universe. When before it had felt like Mike knew them all, and more. Some he’d shared with Greg, but most he’d not.

“Gregory?”

His eyes leapt upward, all too eager to meet Mycroft’s. He found himself the study of that same fondly patient gaze; as if it was completely fine to lose track of a conversation because you got distracted thinking about a pocket watch instead.

_Pull it together, Greg. He doesn’t deserve another emotional outburst from you; you’re lucky he didn’t seem to mind your earlier one. Focus on the present, the past isn’t something you can change._

“Sorry, wandered off a bit there,” Greg covered quickly, loosening his grip on the watch and only partially hoping it hadn’t left a mark on his palm. 

Greg tried to sit up straighter while not being too obvious about it; then when he didn’t seem to succeed he ran his fingers roughly through his hair instead. “Haven’t had much sleep, like I said.”

“I see,” Mycroft murmured; but something in his voice gave Greg the feeling Mycroft was seeing, and hearing, more than Greg wanted him to.

“S’pose, you‘ll want this back now,” Greg said to fill the silence. He gently closed the lid of the watch and ran his thumb over the engraved design one last time before holding out the watch, offering it back to its rightful owner. “Seeing as it’s working again.”

A fiercely nostalgic– selfish– part of Greg wanted to keep it for himself. To have it as a comforting weight in his pocket when he finally had to leave; to be able to take it home and put it away somewhere safe where it would never be lost and he would always know where it was.

Greg knew the watch rightfully belonged to Mike; he’d been the one to gift it to him all those years ago. 

When he’d bought the watch– using nearly all the money he’d been saving– he’d had no idea Mike would disappear days later, and that all his memories of Mike and their time together would follow quickly after. Greg had bought it because he’d wanted to give Mike something in return for everything he’d done; a gift he’d hoped Mike would keep forever. And, more selfishly, a memory of him.

It was possibly the only surviving memento of that summer they’d spent together; and just like he’d hoped, Mike had held onto it and kept it with him all these years.

But, even with everything Greg was willing to do to keep Mycroft in his life this time – if somehow this was the only other chance he was given to ever see Mycroft again – Greg wanted to have a souvenir along with his memories. 

Of course, more than anything he wanted to spend more time with Mycroft. But if he couldn’t have that, if he wasn’t allowed, then the watch... would have to do. At least now he knew it still meant as much to Mike as it had to him.

Mycroft didn’t respond right away, but he also didn’t take the watch back. Which just confused Greg even more.

Instead, Mycroft appeared to be carefully studying him; and though Greg knew it wasn’t meant to, it made him self-conscious. But this was Mycroft, and even though it’d been so many years since they’d last seen each other, Greg still wanted to trust him. He’d just forgotten what it felt like to be the sole focus of that intense, knowing gaze. 

Did he want Mycroft to see all the ways he’d changed in all those years? There wasn’t anything about him that could possibly hold Mycroft’s attention for this long. He wasn’t that interesting.

The seconds ticked slowly past, time stretching as Mycroft remained silent and Greg held his breath, waiting. He left his hand outstretched, still offering the watch; all the while, inside he was a storm of emotions, afraid of breaking the moment and afraid of hearing what Mycroft would say.

After what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, Mycroft exhaled slowly, his tense posture easing into something more relaxed as the entire room seemed to exhale along with him. 

“No,” Mycroft said quietly, even as something like remorse briefly darkened his eyes before it was forced away. His gaze flickered from Greg’s face down to the watch still resting in Greg’s palm. “I believe it’s your turn to keep it.”

“What? Mike—”

Before Greg could continue his protest Mycroft reached out a hand and gently folded Greg’s fingers back over the watch. “Please, Gregory. All those years ago, you were kind enough to give it to me as a gift. I’m merely returning the gesture now.”

That wasn’t the same _at all_. Back then, he’d given Mike the watch as a way to at least start trying to repay him for everything he’d done for him. Now in the present, it held even more precious sentimental value, and was obviously important to both of them.

So why had Mycroft decided to let him keep the watch? Greg wished he knew; understood if it was because Mycroft thought Greg would treasure it more, while they figured out how to be a part of each other's lives again. Or, and it hurt to even think of it, if it was because this was the only second chance he’d have with Mycroft – and this was Mike’s attempt to give him something to remember him by. 

He knew he should be grateful for this reunion, since he knew all too well that life wasn’t normally so kind. But, he wanted to be selfish; he didn’t want to let Mycroft go again. They’d only just found each other again and spoken for only a short time, but Greg already knew he couldn’t cope with being separated again or having to say goodbye.

But as much as he wanted– needed– to ask, to know what Mike’s reasons were _this_ time... he was also afraid. As he remembered, Mike had never really answered questions or given a straight, completely truthful answer if he didn’t want to. If Mycroft did decide to tell him the whole, honest truth now, Greg wasn’t sure if he was ready for that.

So, instead of being brave and asking the questions he wanted to ask, Greg tightened his hand around the watch until he hoped it had imprinted onto his palm. 

He drew his hand with the watch back into his lap and rested his other hand on top, hiding it away. “I’ll hold onto it, for now. Keep it safe. For both of us.”

Greg looked up at Mycroft and caught his eyes again, briefly glimpsing a fragileness lurking just behind his eyes that matched the fluttering in his own stomach. “I believe you will.”

Greg tried to smile, to reassure Mycroft that his belief in him did mean something still. But, as he tore his eyes away to slip the watch into his pocket, it felt surprisingly heavy and more weighed down with memories than comforting.

“And I hope that perhaps every so often, when you need to do so, you will take it out to look at and remind yourself that happier times do exist and will continue to exist.”

Greg blinked at him, not understanding what he meant at first. 

But then Mycroft slowly straightened and stood up from his perch on the edge of the desk. Greg only had a brief glimpse of his expression before Mycroft turned away, smoothing down his waistcoat and adjusting his cufflinks with surprisingly steady hands.

“I believe,” Mycroft cleared his throat, passing Greg’s chair as he moved away, close enough for Greg to reach out and touch him, but he restrained himself. “It’s time we turn our attention to this unsolvable case of yours. Between the two of us I am confident we can finally put your mind at ease.”

Greg hadn’t entirely forgotten the reason he’d come here in the first place, but it had slipped to the back of his mind with the more important discovery he’d found. 

Greg turned in his chair to watch Mycroft walk off to the other side of the room. “Mike—”

“First however, shall we have a toast?” Mycroft suggested with his back to Greg as he stopped in front of what appeared to be a small liquor cabinet built into the wall. The bartop and cabinet were made of the same wood as the desk, and from where he sat Greg could see a variety of different shaped bottles arranged neatly on top. 

“What would you prefer to drink, Gregory?” Mycroft half-turned back to Greg as he took down two glasses. “My entire collection is available to you.”

Greg eyed the collection of bottles Mycroft was now closely inspecting one by one. He’d never really been one to drink expensive things by choice, his go to at home or at his local was always a bottle of beer or something on tap that piqued his interest.

But this was Mycroft, and maybe if there was any time for being a little adventurous this was the right time. “You choose.” 

Mycroft made an intrigued noise then turned back to his liquor cabinet. Greg sat silent in his chair, still half-turned towards Mike and watching his back as he fussed with the bottles.

Greg had always found comfort in silence. It lended itself to deep, productive thinking and the chance to get out of your head for a while. He remembered how growing up, when he’d needed to get away, he’d lay out on the roof outside his bedroom window and enjoy the quiet and stare up at the sky. And how during that one, amazing summer, Mike had always been right there next to him. At least until he’d become too restless and they decided to go off somewhere.

In his memories, silence had always been comfortable with Mike. They hadn’t always needed to be talking. But now, they were here together again, and Greg had no proof there’d be another chance after this one. So he knew he should take this opportunity to catch up with Mike, to ask him about everything he’d done since he’d disappeared that summer. To try to get to know _this_ Mycroft and what had shaped him into this version of him. 

He nearly opened his mouth to ask over the sound of Mycroft pouring out two generous helpings of whatever he’d chosen.

But then Greg glanced around the office again. He suspected it had been carefully designed and furnished to be as dark, intimidating, and expensive looking as possible for Mycroft’s clients; but he also didn’t see any kind of personal items anywhere in the room. Nothing that specified this as being Mycroft’s office. 

During that entire summer Mike had rarely divulged any personal information about the rest of his life, his home, or his family; that entire other part of his life had remained a complete secret to Greg, were all things he wasn’t allowed to know – including any insight into Mike’s life beyond that summer and Greg’s home town.

Greg had only known that Mike’s family did exist, and lived in some undisclosed location in England. And, because of one secret conversation lying on the roof in the complete darkness of the middle of the night when he and Mike had confessed their deepest fears to each other, he knew Mike had a younger wild-spirited, brilliant brother he worried constantly about.

Seeing no personal items at all in the office made Greg wonder what the rest of Mike’s life was like; what he enjoyed doing outside the walls of his office. Mycroft had said that he rarely interacted with the general population, or left his office at all. Did he have anything else in his life other than work?

Not that Greg really had any right to judge Mycroft on that. Ever since Gregson had handed him this case, Greg had completely readjusted his life to center around it and had devoted all of his focus and energy into solving it. Everything else had sort of been pushed off bit by bit to the wayside. Actually, if he was being honest with himself, work had taken top priority in his life for years now.

He also worried about what he would say if Mycroft turned the question back on him. How could he explain everything he had been through over the years? His successes, his failures… all he had given up – and what he’d gained – as he slowly climbed the ranks to get to where he was today?

_The past has already happened, it’s the future that we have the power to change._

The opportunity to say something or to ask Mycroft something was taken away from him when, after one last soft clink of glass against glass, Mycroft turned around with a glass in each hand. Greg couldn’t tell exactly what color the liquid inside was but he trusted Mike not to give him something he wouldn’t like.

“A little liquid courage to ease the way,” Mycroft suggested with a small smile as he walked over to Greg and handed him the glass. 

Greg carefully took it, wrapping both hands around the glass in fear he would drop it.

Mycroft gently clinked his glass against Greg’s, the warmth in his smile finally reaching his eyes. “Cheers, Greg.”

An answering smile was surprisingly easy, as Greg tapped his glass to Mycroft’s. “Cheers, Mike.” 

Mycroft chuckled and raised the glass to his lips, taking his first sip. He made an approving sound then lowered his glass as he closely watched Greg from where he was still hovering right beside Greg’s chair.

Greg knew it probably wasn’t the proper way to drink something this fancy, but he kept his hands around the glass as he raised it to his lips. 

He took a cautious, testing sip and was immediately transported back to his Grand-maman’s small, sunlight kitchen in the French countryside he’d visited every summer, sitting together on creaky chairs at the old wooden table sipping at her homemade elderberry liquor made from her very own berries.

He savored the taste of it in his mouth, lost in happy memories tainted with cutting grief. After he finally reluctantly swallowed, a sigh escaped his lips; then he slowly opened eyes he didn’t remember closing.

His eyes refocused on Mycroft’s face, and found Mike still watching him with a fond glimmer in his eyes and an amused smile. At least he hadn’t laughed.

“Mike, where did—what _is_ this?” He couldn’t help the amazed shock in his voice, or stop himself from taking another sip right away. This one, he savored even longer.

He heard Mike’s laugh, and when he looked at him again Mycroft’s mouth was curled in that way that meant he was pleased with himself about something he’d done.

“I had a feeling you would enjoy that,” was all Mycroft’s answer as he finally stepped away from Greg’s chair. “It is quite indulgent isn’t it?” He walked around his desk to settle back into his seat.

Greg continued sipping slowly at his drink, savoring every taste of it. Back across the desk Mike had leaned back in his own chair where he sat slightly sideways, enjoying the amber colored liquid in his glass compared to the berry colored liquid in Greg’s. Which was odd since he’d thought they were from the same bottle. But maybe he’d imagined that.

The nostalgic combination of the delicious drink and the enjoyable company was just what he needed to finally get his head on straight again. He’d been solely focused on this case for so long, he’d become blind to everything else. But finding Mike again, and spending this time together, it didn’t just stir up long buried memories it also gave him the opportunity to breathe and step back to clear his head.

Once their glasses were empty, they were set down on the desk and off to the side. 

Now, feeling more relaxed and a little brave, Greg leaned forward enough to wrestle off his coat and twisted to drape it over the back of his chair. 

Then he shifted forward nearly to the edge of his chair, and clasped his hands together as he met Mycroft’s ever watchful gaze. “Right, where do you want to start?”

Mycroft treated him to a slow, eager smile. He sat forward as well, matching Greg’s posture. “Let’s start at the very beginning. Describe to me exactly what happened, using only your own words.”

Greg’s hand had started reaching for the file folder he’d brought along with everything he had on this case. He paused mid-reach, frowning. “You don’t want to see all the notes and photographs I’ve brought?”

Mycroft slowly shook his head. “First, I would like you to talk us through all the details of the case yourself. Afterwards we can examine the materials you’ve brought with you as well.”

“Fair enough.” With a deep breath, Greg started from the very beginning and explained every single thing about the case in detail to Mycroft, using his own words as instructed, and sharing everything he had seen and heard, or knew.

The words and details all flowed together easily, without his having to second guess or modify any of what he was saying. And the entire time he spoke, Mycroft’s attention remained focused completely on him, absorbing and analyzing all the information Greg was giving him.

Once he finally arrived at the end, Greg stopped, looking expectantly at Mycroft. He waited, patient but eager to hear Mycroft’s opinion about the case. If there was anyone else he could trust with this case, and to help him solve it, it was this man.

Mycroft hummed thoughtfully, settling back in his chair and steepling his hands under his chin. “Interesting. Much more so than I’d anticipated.”

He nodded at the case file still sticking out of the pocket of Greg’s coat. “Now, why don’t you show me what you’ve brought along, and we can go over everything together again.”

Surprised, but willing to go along with the suggestion, Greg reached back to retrieve the case file. He set it down on the desk between them and opened it, spreading out the contents. Then he began from the beginning all over again, this time pointing out the photographs and notes and papers as he went along.

Greg lost himself amidst the details and facts of the case, the comfortable back and forth between them and Mycroft’s interruptions to ask questions or for clarification. It was so easy discussing this with Mycroft, considering his questions and insight and how they affected Greg’s own views. He’d never experienced this with anyone else, even when he’d tried talking the case over with Gregson or his fellow officers. But Mike had always been easy to talk to and a helpful sounding board, in the past and now in the present.

As they continued talking, the weight and stress Greg had been carrying around on his shoulders about his ability to solve this case lifted away for hope and renewed confidence to settle around him instead.

Time passed by beyond the walls of the office without them; they continued talking, exchanging questions and opinions, and suggestions for what he should do next, for what could have been minutes or several hours. But they didn’t pay any attention to Time so She left them alone.

At some point, Greg stood up to shift the photographs around on the desk; then he began to move around the desk, little by little, until he settled half-leaning half-perched against the edge, centimeters away from Mycroft. Mike, who at some point had removed his cufflinks and rolled his sleeves up nearly to his elbows; and when Greg settled close by started to lean in towards him until they almost touched every time one of them spoke, their hands gesturing mid-air.

The years fell away between them until the past and present blended together, and it was almost like no time had passed at all. They were just Mike and Greg; alone on their own together talking through a common problem and shooting around ideas with the one other person who seemed to understand them and could change their perception of themselves and the world.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

The brisk double knock on the door across the room was quiet, but the sound of it still struck Greg like a lightning bolt, jolting him back to harsh, painful, reality.

He paused in the middle of his latest – even more ridiculous than the last – take on the case to try to amuse Mike, his mouth snapping closed mid-word. 

Suddenly, he was all too aware of how close they were; the two of them practically molded together where they leaned against each other, leaving barely any space between them.

It’d happened without his even realizing or meaning for it to happen. A once long buried instinct to be as close as possible to Mike now renewed so that he’d sought out the comfort and safety Mycroft offered. He’d been too caught up in how effortless it was to fall back into the comfortable friendship between him and Mike, familiarity that didn’t seem to have disappeared even in the years they’d been apart. 

After their initial awkward conversation, Greg’s emotional confession -something that would never have happened with anyone else, but Mike had always been able to loosen his tongue- and his fumbling over what to say about the watch, something between them had finally clicked back into place and everything had become so much easier. 

Greg had found himself relaxing, comfortable around Mike, again, and sharing things he couldn’t imagine telling his coworkers or anyone else. And when they’d moved their attention on to Greg’s case he’d discovered the wonder of having someone to talk about it with, someone who actually listened and engaged and offered advice. Until now, he’d worked himself to the bone trying to solve this case by himself and prove he was in the right profession as well as deserving of a promotion.

Discussing the case with Mike didn’t just help him go over it in detail and walk through the timeline of events multiple times, but it also helped him see it from a different perspective. Mike had excellent questions, made Greg question his own assumptions, and gave helpful recommendations about what he should do next.

Greg realized he was very grateful that he’d decided to consult the mysterious expert Gregson had suggested after all. Not only because he’d been reunited with a dear friend he hadn’t even known he’d lost, but also because of how much Mike was helping him. He couldn’t have even begun to expect to be given as much as he had.

Actually, he couldn’t have expected this at all when he’d made the decision to come. He did wonder why Gregson had tried to warn him about the consequences of consulting Mike right after suggesting it. He’d claimed there was a cost, if Mycroft did decide to help. But hadn’t Greg already lost so much when it came to Mike? Even if it had happened years ago?

Greg took an uneasy shaky breath and shifted a little away from Mycroft. Just far enough to leave some space between them. An ordinary amount of space between two friends.

He felt more than heard Mycroft collect himself, straightening in his chair and bracing for the unwelcome disruption. Out of the corner of his eye, since he wouldn’t let himself look directly at Mycroft, Greg saw him quickly roll his sleeves down again before clasping his hands together in his lap.

“Yes, Anthea?” Mycroft called in a voice that managed to be loud enough for the person on the other side of the door to hear while not sounding like he’d raised his voice.

A soft click and the door silently opened to reveal Mycroft’s beautiful and efficient assistant.

She gave Greg a slight acknowledgment of a smile – briefly glancing at the still barely existent space between them – before directing her full attention to Mycroft.

“I apologize for the disruption, sir. However we must leave now in order to be on time for your next appointment. The car is ready.”

\--

It is a phrase that has been repeated numerous times in this room between the two of them over the years.

Anthea, ever conscious and supportive of her boss’s needs, organizes everything around him to make sure he is always where he needs to be – especially when he is forced to travel beyond the sanctuary of his home or his offices – leaving him able to focus on what is important for the nation and the world to continue turning.

This time though, is different.

Time, always a fickle mistress – even for Mycroft Holmes – ticks to a stop between one second and the next.

Suddenly the room around them becomes alive, full of all the future possibilities of what could be.

This is the moment when everything has the potential to change. In this next second between when Anthea speaks and when Mycroft opens his mouth to respond.

There are countless potential paths for the future to come. Some will end in heartbreak, others in comfort and happiness, others with the same status quo and nothing changing at all. 

But even more importantly, though it may come as a surprise to these two men, there is yet another path that will end in happiness for them both.

It all comes down to the decision Mycroft will make in this next second. 

Whether he will choose to take the path that has opened up to him – and is being offered by Greg Lestrade – or if he will continue as he has and allow this potential future to slip from his grasp.

They have already been torn apart once, because the rules of the universe that govern those of the Poppins line commanded it.

But now, they are being given a second chance; an opportunity that has never been possible before because these events have never happened before.

But the Holmes brothers have always been laws unto themselves. Uniquely special from everyone else that has come before.

All the potential futures suddenly disappear, except for one; that future now clearly taking shape ahead of them.

Mycroft Holmes has made his decision.

Smiling to herself, Time restarts again—

—just as Mycroft opens his mouth.

\--

As soon as Anthea began speaking Greg took a significant step away from Mike and started picking up all the photos and papers spread out across the desk. As he did he mentally tried to resign himself to the now inescapable fact that his time with Mike was over already. 

He’d been given so much more than he could have expected when he’d first arrived. He would never regret coming here. But he wasn’t ready to walk away from Mike yet.

Still here was reality crashing in on them. Because right now people more important than him were demanding Mike’s time; which meant Greg was being pushed aside.

“Please offer my apologies to the Prime Minister, Anthea. However, I’m afraid I have been unavoidably detained by my previous appointment and am unable to meet with him after all.”

At Mycroft’s response, Greg froze in place. 

The folder fell out of his hand and down onto the desk, but somehow the pictures and papers didn’t scatter again. “What? Mike—”

“I will follow up with him at a later time to reschedule. For an appointment at a time when he will be able to come here instead.”

As Anthea murmured a confused “Sir?” Greg stepped closer to Mike again, reaching out his hand to rest it on Mycroft’s arm to get his attention.

He was silently relieved when Mike didn’t startle or pull away, instead turning to look at him in surprise. “Mike, you can’t just put off the Prime Minister. Not for me. ’M sure he has some pressing, nationally important problem—”

“It is more likely that the man, as always, enjoys the sound of his own voice; and is yet again taking up my valuable time to force me to travel to his offices where he will request my advice and then promptly refuse to follow it.”

Greg bit his tongue to stop from agreeing aloud. “Fine, but Mike… he’s still the Prime Minister. What if he actually does need your advice about something that’s actually important?”

The look Mycroft gave him was patient with a fond smile. As if he thought Greg’s protest over his going to a previously scheduled appointment was amusing. Especially when it was with the Prime Minister. “I can assure you Greg, he does not.”

Even at Anthea’s stifled laugh, Greg couldn’t look away from him. “Still, he did make an appointment,” Greg insisted. “And I've already taken up enough of your time. You’ve given me plenty to start following up on with this case.” 

He picked up the folder again and tucked it under his arm so it would be more secure. “Leads to look into, information to track down, people to question. You know, investigating. Legwork. Nothing you’d be interested in.”

“Perhaps not,” Mycroft agreed thoughtfully, but Greg could tell from the reminiscent look in his eyes that he was probably remembering how often they’d wandered around the streets where he’d grown up. “That does sound much better left to you.”

Ha , thought so . “Go to your meeting then. And,” deep breath, it’s worth the risk of suggesting it . “As soon as I find anything I’ll let you know. You’ll be the first I tell.”

“I would appreciate that. Please do keep me informed of any updates, any at all.”

Greg thought he would collapse with relief. He does want to keep in touch. Thank god. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if Mycroft had completely dismissed his suggestion. If he thought Greg was crazy for thinking he’d want anything more to do with this case. Or with him.

“Sir, I’ll go check on the car.”

Greg quickly looked over to Anthea, who he’d forgotten was also in the room. He was just quick enough to catch her staring at him with… was that curiosity? before she turned and silently slipped out of the room.

His cheeks felt heated as he turned back to Mycroft, not quite able to look him in the eye. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten they weren’t alone and there was someone else in the room with them. Being around Mike again, and spending even this short time with him, had somehow made all the self-consciousness and emotional barriers he’d built over the years crumble into nothing.

“Right, I guess that’s my cue to leave then.” Greg suggested, hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt and that it didn’t give away his distress at having to leave; even though he was willingly making that choice. 

He took a step backward, then another, and another until he was at the corner of the desk. 

Mycroft watched him closely as he moved away, and Greg had the impression again of Mycroft trying to memorize him in every detail. Yet Mike didn’t say anything, didn’t try to convince him to stay.

Greg paused right at the corner of the desk; somehow the idea of taking one more step was too much. He’d be moving out of Mike’s orbit. “I’ll start looking into what you suggested, and if I find anything you’ll be the first to know. Maybe I’ll even turn up and tell you myself.”

Mike’s mouth twitched upward as he fought a smile. “Perhaps calling first would be recommended.”

Oh, so I don’t get to just turn up unannounced like you always did? “Right, good idea,” Greg nodded sagely. “You might be meeting with the Queen.”

Mycroft treated him to such a mock disapproving look that Greg laughed. “Gregory, you believe I would meet the Queen here ?”

“‘Course not.”

Mycroft shook his head then slowly rose to his feet, methodically replacing his cufflinks on his shirt. Greg’s hands itched to help him, even though Mycroft seemed perfectly able to do it himself. “I recommend you call first so I can clear my schedule to ensure we are able to spend time together without being interrupted.”

“Oh.” Oh. “I’ll definitely call first then. Before I come.” Mycroft pushed his chair back into his desk then straightened it as Greg shuffled his feet. “Will, er, would Anthea just let me through to you?”

Mycroft paused in the middle of pulling his suit jacket on again. “Ah.” 

He continued pulling it on, then once he finished took a moment to adjust the fit to his satisfaction. Even though it was just a suit jacket, he somehow looked different now it was on again. One more piece of the armor of the aloof, brilliant consultant Mycroft presented to everyone else.

“Your mobile please.” Mycroft held his hand out across the small distance between them.

Greg reached into his pocket and pulled it out, handing it over without a second thought. Mycroft took it from him and in seconds had it unlocked and was tapping away at the keys. 

It didn’t surprise Greg at all that Mycroft had managed to guess his security code so easily. It wasn’t like he was trying to keep anyone out. Not that Mike could easily be kept out.

“This is my personal number, it will go directly to my mobile,” Mycroft explained as he pressed one last key. 

“I may not always be able to answer right away,” He warned as he locked Greg’s mobile again. “However, despite that, please feel free to contact me whenever you wish. I do keep odd hours so do not worry about disturbing me.” 

Mycroft paused, and Greg sensed there was more he wanted to say. So Greg didn’t speak and he didn’t move. He just waited Mike out.

Finally Mycroft cleared his throat, and offered Greg a fragile but hopeful smile. “You can also, if you wish, contact me about other... matters. Ones not related to your case. I would enjoy hearing from you, no matter the reason. If... that is agreeable to you.”

Oh, so he could still be an idiot. That was good to know. “Course it is. I’d like to stay in touch with you too. Not just about the case.” Greg’s hand curled protectively around the pocket watch in his pocket. 

He nodded at his mobile Mycroft was still holding. “Do you have my number?” He asked tentatively, trying to keep his voice steady. “Feel free to send it to yourself, if not. Just in case you want to contact me. For whatever reason.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Mycroft said, sounding a little surprised he hadn’t thought of it himself. He unlocked Greg’s mobile again and started tapping on the keys, not looking up from the screen.

A few seconds later Greg’s mobile was swiftly locked and handed back to him, a slight color to Mike’s cheeks as he not quite met Greg’s eyes with a small smile.

“Thanks,” Greg said, taking his mobile and dropping it into his jacket pocket. 

His mouth hurt from smiling, and he had to stop himself from reaching out to touch Mycroft. “With all you’ve given me to look into, I might not have time to call right away. Or stop by, announced or not. So don’t get too excited, I’m not the best conversationalist over text. Still haven’t got my head around all these emoticon faces and text speak.”

The grimace on Mike’s face was worth it. “In that case I would prefer to speak with you. If not in person, then over the phone. With proper English words for a real conversation.”

“I’ll remember that. Prefer talking anyway.” Greg agreed with a nod, his mobile a reassuring presence in his other pocket. He had Mycroft’s number and he’d been given permission to use it. “But, same goes for you Mike. If you want to text or call I’ll always try to answer. No need to think twice about it.”

“I appreciate that Greg. I will keep it in mind.” On the surface the words were surprised, and a bit tentative. But Greg saw Mycroft slip his hand into the pocket where his own mobile was. So hopefully he understood Greg’s offer was just as sincere as he sensed Mike’s was.

Maybe everything really will be fine .

“At least, until whenever I’m able to come by again. So you have time to schedule me in ahead of time.” Greg grinned at Mycroft. “Wouldn’t want to upset your carefully arranged schedule.”

Mycroft returned a pleased smile. “I’m sure Anthea will be very appreciative. However I am open to my schedule becoming slightly more… flexible.”

“Are you?” In his pocket Greg ran the pad of his thumb around the lid of the pocket watch.

“Yes,” Mycroft confirmed, sounding very serious about the fact. “In fact, Gregory—”

There was another soft knock on the door signaling Anthea’s return. But this time, Greg had braced himself for the coming interruption.

Mycroft was close enough that Greg overheard his quiet sigh of annoyance.

The door opened again and Anthea stepped back inside with a much nicer coat than Greg’s draped over her arm, an umbrella in one hand and a mobile in her other.

“The car is ready, sir. We should leave; we’re already far behind schedule.”

She stayed by the door as Greg and Mycroft slowly walked out from behind the desk and started across the room towards her; Greg was just a step behind Mike, and trying not to walk slowly on purpose. 

Greg paused by the chair in front of the desk to grab his coat he’d left draped over the back; but before he could reach for it Mycroft picked it up instead. 

When he gave Mycroft a confused look, the man just smiled back and held his coat up for him.

Greg didn’t quite manage to not roll his eyes, but he did turn around and let Mycroft help him pull it on. As he slid his arms through the sleeves he felt Mycroft’s hands adjusting it on his shoulders and fixing his collar. It wasn’t that embarrassing; honestly he should have expected it, and afterwards he did feel a little less underdressed and more self-confident, even compared to Mycroft’s fancy suit.

With his coat on, and Mycroft approved, Greg turned back around – and as he did he caught the surprised look Anthea was giving him, quickly followed by what looked like an apology.

Well, that was interesting.

Mycroft was already standing beside Anthea by the time Greg shook himself out of his thoughts, so Greg hurried to catch up to him.

“An umbrella? I wasn’t aware it was forecasted to rain today.” Mycroft said as he reached out to take the coat from her. He pulled it on with the same dramatic flair Greg remembered.

Anthea treated Mycroft to what Greg thought was a chastising look. Once Mycroft had his coat on she held the umbrella out to him. “Yet I’m afraid that it has, in fact, started to rain, sir.”

“Should know better than to just blindly trust the weather forecast, Mycroft.” Greg added as he started buttoning up his own coat. “It’ll always rain.”

“And yet,” Mycroft retorted with a single raised eyebrow and a tilt of his head, “You did not bring an umbrella.”

Greg’s hands stilled on his second to last button. “Well, no I didn’t. Was in a bit of a rush coming here. And I didn’t have one at the office.”

Mycroft’s gaze focused intently on him as Greg finished buttoning his coat with suddenly clumsy fingers. Greg tried to ignore Mycroft and instead listened to Anthea’s rapid typing on her mobile.

“You should join us in the car, Gregory. There’s no need for you to try to catch a cab. We can give you a lift to wherever you’d like.”

Greg’s head jerked up to stare at him. “What? No, Mike, we’ve been over this. You have an appointment to make. You’re already running late, and especially with traffic you don’t have time to drive me around the city.”

“You would prefer to become caught in the rain and be drenched? All for the sake of attempting to find a cab?”

“It’s just a little rain, Mycroft. I won’t melt. And, I do remember the last time we tried to share the same vehicle.” He shot Mike a teasing look even as he lost the struggle to not smirk. “A cab’s probably a better choice. Safer.” 

Were Mike’s cheeks red? “That was a motorbike, Gregory. Hardly the same—”

“‘Sides, I’m just going back to the Yard. Hardly need you to go out of your way to give me a lift.” At Mycroft’s disapproving look Greg sighed and shook his head. “With all you’ve given me to look into I want to get started right away. I don’t want to waste any more time.”

Mike frowned but at least he decided not to try and change Greg’s mind. “Please at least go home at a regular hour, Gregory. Make sure you have a full night's rest.”

“Only if you agree to do the same, Mycroft.” Greg gave him a not nearly as intimidating version of his disapproving look. “You need sleep too, just like everyone else.”

Greg was close enough to hear Anthea’s quickly smothered laugh. He glanced over at her to see the conspiratorial smile she was sending his way.

“Yes, well,” Mycroft said, clearing his throat. “I will try.” 

Mycroft turned to address Anthea, not quite giving his back to Greg. “Shall we?”

Anthea gave a brisk nod and pocketed her mobile. She opened the door wide enough for the two of them to follow her out into the reception room. 

Greg continued just a step behind her to the door that led out into the hall. But then Anthea stopped in front of it and didn’t reach out to open it, just stood waiting.

Greg followed her gaze back across the room to see Mycroft had made a detour to the wooden cabinets built into the wall behind the desk. He had opened one of the cabinet doors and was reaching inside to take out… an umbrella? It didn’t look quite as expensive and handcrafted as Mycroft’s did, but it still looked worth a lot more than the cheap plastic ones Greg tended to use.

After Mycroft closed the cabinet again and was walking towards them Greg found himself asking, “Just how many of those do you have?”

Mycroft’s smile was teasing as he answered, “Enough to lend you one to ensure you stay dry until you locate your own.” 

Once he was next to Greg, Mike held the umbrella out to him; Greg took it gratefully but with care. “You always did have one with you.” He leaned over to more closely inspect the umbrella Mycroft was holding. “That’s not the same one, is it?”

“After so many years, Gregory?” Mycroft hedged secretively, tilting his head.

He tapped his umbrella once on the ground then strode forward past Greg and Anthea to open the door himself. Greg shared a look with Anthea then quickly followed after Mycroft, just like he always had. 

They went through the doorway and out into the hallway, Anthea closing the door silently behind them. Greg opened his mouth but Anthea quickly caught his eye and shook her head, putting a finger to her lips.

Right, the ground rules of this fancy club – which included not speaking in public spaces. It seemed strange to him, but, since he wanted to be allowed back inside, he should probably follow along. He wondered what the story was behind why Mycroft had chosen to have an office here of all places. It was an...interesting club. But, it also fit him.

Greg nodded his understanding and began to silently follow the two of them down the hallway, back up the stairs, then down yet another hallway until Greg lost track of where they were. The entire time Mike’s umbrella tapped the ground on every other step. 

This hallway didn’t look any different than the one Greg had taken when he’d arrived, but it felt different. Then they turned again and, finally in front of them with several steps leading down to them, were antique wooden double doors. Anthea moved in front of Mycroft and stepped forward to reach out and open one door just enough to peer out beyond it; she seemed satisfied by what she saw and pushed it open the rest of the way.

Anthea stepped out onto the surprisingly pedestrian-free pavement and without pausing opened her umbrella as she walked directly towards the sleek black town car idling at the curb.

Greg came to an abrupt halt just out the door but still underneath the overhang, staring at the car. He felt Mycroft pause beside him, standing in almost the same space to keep out of the rain.

“Well,” Greg said in a hushed voice, “Now I understand your prejudice against cabs.” He smiled at the sound of Mycroft’s not quite contained laughter, his body instinctively leaning in towards the other man. “Who wants to ride in a cab when you have a car like this you can use?” 

“Are you rethinking your rude refusal of my offer of a lift?” The question was smug, but when Greg turned his head to look at Mycroft he could see the amusement dancing in his eyes.

“No; as impressed as I am by your car,” Greg said, drawing out his words, “I am perfectly happy using a cab like the ordinary commoner I am.”

Greg was surprised by the firm hand that gripped his upper arm, even more so when it turned him so he was fully facing Mycroft. 

“Gregory Alexandre Lestrade,” Mycroft said softly, his tone and his gaze completely serious. Greg shivered, both at the sound of his full name and at Mycroft’s voice. “You are anything but ordinary.”

Greg found he couldn’t look away from the intensity in Mike’s eyes; it felt like they were drawing him in as the rest of the world faded away, unimportant. 

His cheeks burned as he struggled for something to say. ‘Thank you’ seemed like such an insignificant response to a grand statement like that.

But it seemed Mycroft wasn’t finished. “I understand life hasn’t been so kind to you in the years since we last saw each other. But… I hope you will always remember just how remarkable you are.”

Well, even though he didn’t agree with that, it would be rude to argue with Mycroft. At least right now.

“I might need reminding every so often.” Greg told him instead, all too aware of the warmth of Mycroft’s hand on his arm. “If you wouldn’t mind staying around to remind me.”

“Just another reason for us to remain in touch,” Mycroft agreed, lightly squeezing Greg’s arm before finally letting go. “I look forward to spending more time with you, Gregory. I very much regret having to cut short our time together today.”

“It’s because of your job, Mycroft. I completely understand.” Greg reassured again, wondering how many times it would take for the other man to understand he knew what it was like for your job to take over your life. Workaholic was the less kind term.

Mycroft lowered his head, his hands visibly tightening around the curved wooden handle of his umbrella. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, and Greg could tell he was choosing each word carefully, “You would be willing to allow me to treat you to a meal, as an apology.”

Was he smiling again? His cheeks hurt from smiling so much after so long. He was just relieved that that was what Mycroft had seemed so worried about asking. “That would be nice. I would really like that. But…” 

He thought of how much investigating and legwork he had ahead of him, and the potentially innocent young man waiting for his looming trial. “Could we wait until I’ve finally closed this case? I do want to go for a meal with you. Honestly. But I don’t want any distractions when we do. I want to have this case finished and squared away, with nothing else on my mind.”

His rush to try to explain why he was saying no right now but was not saying no to it definitely happening in the future, eased at the knowing smile Mycroft gave him. “Of course, Gregory,” he agreed. “I am more than willing to wait if it will help to give you peace of mind. And allow you to relax and enjoy yourself.”

“Thanks. I just,” He used his hand holding the umbrella to gesture at the case file still tucked under his arm. “Need to finish this first, and know I did everything I could and did it right. You’ve helped me feel a lot closer today, so I want to thank you for that.”

“There’s no need, Gregory. I am more than happy to help remind you of the truth that you are a talented detective and well deserving of the position you currently occupy.”

“Right, well. Thank you.” It meant a lot to him to hear Mycroft say that; he had never softened his words when it came to the truth, so it made it easier for Greg to believe him. “Guess, maybe, I chose the right career after all.”

“Absolutely.”

From beside the car where she was managing to type on her mobile and hold up her umbrella Anthea called, “Sir, I hate to interrupt, but we really do need to be going.”

Greg felt Mycroft’s quiet sigh from beside him; he watched helplessly as Mycroft turned away from him and his kind, warm expression closed off completely as he became the reserved genius consultant again. “Duty calls.”

“‘Course,” Greg said, his voice rough. “I’ll just find a cab. You go ahead.”

Mycroft turned his head back just enough to give him a look of deep disappointment. “I’m hardly going to leave you stranded, Greg.” He undid the clasp on his umbrella and, in one practiced motion, opened it as he swung it up over his head. All without getting a drop of rain on him. “Come along.”

Greg was left blinking for a second or two as Mycroft started walking away; then he came to his senses and hurried after him. 

He quickly caught up to Mycroft and ducked underneath his umbrella instead of opening his own. When they’d first come out it’d been barely raining but in the time they’d been talking it had started pouring. Apparently when it rained, it did pour.

Anthea looked up from her mobile to greet them with a mysteriously pleased smile. “Thank goodness we had an extra umbrella.”

Greg blinked at her then caught just the end of the narrow-eyed warning Mycroft had sent her.

To try and distract them from whatever was going on between the two of them, Greg asked, “Don’t suppose either of you know the best place to catch a cab nearby? I haven’t seen one since we’ve been out here.”

“I can help you with that, Gregory,” Mycroft offered; then before Greg could stop him Mycroft took the umbrella out of his hand and opened it, all while effortlessly holding onto his own and keeping them both dry.

Greg stared at him in shock during all this and continued even when Mycroft pressed the handle of Greg’s borrowed umbrella into his hand then with a nod walked off towards the back of his car. What on earth was he doing?

He heard Anthea make an intrigued noise under her breath and turned back to see her watching him instead of Mycroft.

“What?” Greg asked, a little self-conscious since this was his first time alone with her since earlier.

“Nothing,” she said, but was smiling as she shook her head. “You just aren't what I expected.”

What did that mean? He opened his mouth to ask but was distracted by movement off in the direction Mycroft had gone.

Greg turned in time to see Mycroft lowering his umbrella from as high as his arm would reach above his head where he stood next to the open curb behind his car. 

At the far end of the street beyond him a black cab moved slowly towards them, its yellow light switching on as it came closer.

Greg hadn’t seen it turn onto this street, and it was the first one he’d seen since they’d been standing out here. When he’d arrived, he’d nearly got into an argument with his cabbie because the man had insisted the address didn’t exist.

And yet, somehow Mycroft had managed to call a cab into existence on this street that wasn’t supposed to exist.

The cab came to a slow stop right behind Mycroft’s car, and when Mycroft walked up to it the front window rolled down. Greg couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Mycroft appeared to be talking intently to the driver.

Greg was fairly sure the driver wouldn’t need directions to the Yard. At least not such apparently detailed directions. So he couldn’t imagine what Mycroft was saying to the man.

“At this rate there will hardly be any time remaining for even an attempt at a productive meeting,” Anthea sighed regretfully.

With one eye still on Mycroft, Greg asked curiously, “Were you expecting the meeting to be productive?”

“Not really,” Anthea admitted after a moment, her mouth curling upwards. “But now Mr. Holmes will be even more disinclined to cooperate and will be distracted instead. Having to travel to a different location for an appointment is never a good start to begin with.”

Greg’s hand slipped into his pocket and curled around the surprisingly warm pocket watch. “I didn’t mean to distract him.”

Did Mycroft just hand over a handful of money to the cab driver? That sneaky bastard!

“I just came to, er, to ask his help on a case of mine.” Greg managed to stumble to the end of his sentence as he watched Mycroft closely. “That’s all. I didn’t know—”

I didn’t know I’d be reunited with my close friend from the best summer I ever had growing up. And I didn’t know he’d change my life yet again.

Anthea was silent, for long enough it made him worried enough to turn to look at her. He discovered she was watching him with a surprising warmth in her eyes and a soft smile. “It’s all right, Sergeant. I’m not upset, just… pleasantly surprised.”

Greg wasn’t sure how to interpret that. But it sounded like she might approve of him? The unrequested advice slipped out before he could stop himself, “If you need help to motivate him, you can always say it’ll help someone else. That used to convince him.”

Her smile disappeared and she stared at him like he’d just spoken nonsense. “What—?”

“Your transport awaits, Gregory,” Mycroft announced grandly as he walked back over to them, looking very pleased with himself.

Greg treated him to a I know what you did but I won’t call you on it so you can get away with it this time look. Mycroft just smiled innocently back at him.

“Thanks, Mycroft,” he said instead. Greg caught Mycroft’s eyes and the painful realization suddenly crashed over him like a wave- tightening his chest and freezing him in place.

This was it; it was time to say goodbye. Not forever, but for right now. The last time he’d said goodbye to Mike, he’d thought it was just for that night–. He hadn’t known it would be goodbye for the next several decades.

This time was different. They’d both promised they would keep in touch. By calling, texting, or if he had to, turning up at Mycroft’s office –with or without calling ahead. He had the pocket watch to make sure he remembered the past, and he had Mycroft’s mobile number and his office address to make sure they stayed connected in the present.

Greg swallowed thickly, and blinked suddenly watery eyes. “I really mean it, Mike. Thank you… for everything.” He tried to express all of his feelings and emotions within those words because he didn’t know how else to make Mycroft understand.

“You’re very welcome, Gregory,” Mycroft replied, sounding completely sincere and as if maybe he did understand. He managed a small smile, but it looked as tenuous as the hope in Greg’s chest felt. “It was wonderful to see you again.”

“You too, I’m really glad it turned out to be you I was coming to see.” The rain had started coming down even harder, loud enough now Greg had to raise his voice to make sure Mycroft could hear. But it reflected exactly how he felt.

Greg held out his hand, wishing he could embrace Mike instead; but he didn’t know if it would be welcomed – after all, they were grown up now. He struggled to control his expression. “Don’t be a stranger, all right? You have my number and I have yours. Don’t hesitate to call, or text even. I want to hear from you.”

Mycroft almost eagerly took his hand, squeezing it once before shaking it. His skin was warm against Greg’s and his grip surprisingly firm. “Same to you, Gregory. I will keep my mobile nearby at all times, in anticipation of hearing from you.” His gaze slid sideways. “And if it comes to it, I believe Anthea may be willing to allow you into my office unhindered.”

“That’s still yet to be seen,” Anthea’s amused voice seemed to come from far away.

Mycroft shrugged, as if to say he had tried.

Greg laughed. “All right. Guess your texts and calls will have to be enough for now then.” He squeezed Mike’s hand back, transfixed by the storm grey gaze he didn’t want to look away from. “Talk to you soon?”

He held his breath, holding tightly onto Mike’s hand to ground himself until Mycroft finally answered in a quiet, sincere promise that wrapped around Greg like a warm blanket, “Very soon, Gregory.”

“Holding you to that,” Greg told him, trying to sound stern even though he could barely hear over his pounding heart. He shook Mycroft’s hand one more time before finally making himself let go. Forcing himself to release his hold on the man.

His hand instead slid into his pocket to wrap around the pocket watch and he tightened his other hand around the handle of the umbrella. “Take care, Mike,” he said as his final parting word; it’s goodbye for now, not forever, he reminded himself. 

His first step around Mycroft and the next one past him were painfully difficult, his feet didn’t seem to want to move. But once he had managed to make it that far it was a little easier to take one more step and then another.

As he walked further away, leaving Mycroft behind, Mycroft’s voice drifted after him, “And you, Gregory.”

Greg somehow managed to continue walking, setting his shoulders and not letting himself stop or look back until he was at the door of the cab. Only once he had opened the door and was turning to get inside did Greg finally look up again... and found Mycroft’s eyes on him still.

Greg gave him one last, probably, shaky smile and an awkward wave before he bent down and slid inside the cab.

The cabbie was, surprisingly, not rude, even after how long he’d been waiting. He just asked, “You ready?” not bothering to turn his head or take his hands off the wheel to start the meter. 

Greg suspiciously wondered just what Mycroft had said to him, and if he’d maybe slipped him a little more than he needed to.

Greg pulled the door closed and nearly collapsed back onto the seat. 

“All right,” he announced with a heavy sigh, somewhat in a daze while his heart still thundered away. “I’m ready.”

As his cab pulled away from the curb then started to move slowly down the street, Greg shifted sideways on the seat to watch Mycroft through the back window as he grew further and further away.

Now that he was away from Mycroft and out of his presence, his head felt clearer, which made it easier for him to think and to realize the impossibleness of what had just happened.

In one pocket his fingers curled tightly around the pocket watch while, in his other pocket, his hand wrapped around his mobile. They were his only physical proof that any of that just now had been real. 

He didn’t trust his memories quite yet, because apparently those could be altered and forgotten all too easily. But having the pocket watch in his possession again after all these years, and his mobile with Mycroft’s number saved in it, helped him trust he hadn’t imagined it all.

He really had found Mike again; and however that had come about, now he knew all his memories of that life-changing summer were real and had actually happened. He’d lost so much back then, but now here in the present somehow he’d been given a second chance to have Mycroft in his life again.

Gregson had warned him there was a high cost that came with consulting Mycroft; but surely losing his memories once already of Mike and that summer counted? He didn’t have anything else to give and he wouldn’t willingly part with his memories again for anything.

The pocket watch, safely hidden away in his pocket, grew reassuringly warm in his hand.

Nothing was impossible after all. And, just maybe, there were no such things as coincidences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> There will be at some point posted a version of their reunion told from Mycroft’s point of view.


End file.
